


Camelot California

by Northern_Lady



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Arthurian, Excalibur, Gunslingers, Horses, Lady of the Lake - Freeform, Lancelot - Freeform, Murder, Mystery, Old West, Romance, Sheriff - Freeform, US Marshall, Western, gunfights, knights of the round table - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:17:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Lady/pseuds/Northern_Lady
Summary: In 1872 California, Arthur Boone believes it is his destiny to recreate Camelot as King Arthur returned. Arthur is a former Confederate officer and a war hero but deep down is not what people believe him to be,United States Marshall Lucas Walton is a good hearted, easy going widower, who doesn't really enjoy being a marshall. When his brother in law turns up dead he gets pulled into an investigation unlike any he has ever experienced.Gwen Ethridge has grown up wealthy in England but is being sent away by her father, disgraced, for having a baby out of wedlock. She agrees to beome a mail order bride to the sheriff of a small American town, Camelot California.





	1. Chapter 1

_For many a petty king ere Arthur came_  
Ruled in this isle, and ever waging war   
Each upon other, wasted all the land;   
And still from time to time the heathen host   
Swarmed overseas, and harried what was left.   
And so there grew great tracts of wilderness,   
Wherein the beast was ever more and more,   
But man was less and less, till Arthur came.   
-Alfred Tennyson 

 

The sheriff’s badge gleamed in the sunlight as Arthur Boone stepped out onto the silent street. A warm wind blew across the empty road kicking up dust and a tumbleweed in the eerie stillness. Arthur’s boots thudded down the steps loudly in the relative quiet. He stopped in the center of the street, rifle held to his shoulder and ready. The curtains were drawn in all the windows. Two wagons were overturned further down the street as a barricade. Arthur wasn’t fooled by the serenity of the moment. He had three rounds in his gun and four men left to kill. There was only one way this could end. With a lot of blood and a few dead men. 

Arthur had been drawing their fire long enough to know that the wagon on the left side of the street had two men behind it and one of those men was out of ammunition. The wagon on the right hid two men and both of them still had plenty of bullets left. His real advantage was that all the men of the Bartlett gang were terrible shots. They liked to make a lot of noise and waste a lot of bullets. It was how they kept people afraid of them, riding around like wild men whooping and yelling and shooting up the place wherever they robbed. At this distance though he could hit them sooner than they could hit him. If he played his cards right he could still save this town. All it would take was a good aim, a sharp bayonet, and a little faith. 

He strode a few steps further down the all but deserted street and a shot rang off, skimming over his head by several inches. This was close enough. A second shot sounded off and hit near his boot on the dusty ground. A third shot landed somewhere far off and not any place near him at all. That’s good. Keep ‘em coming boys. Use up as many shots as you can while your target is still too far off. Arthur supposed that he should have been afraid. Most men would be. Fear wasn’t something that he was aware of very often. It was a useless emotion that did nothing but shut people down and make them ineffective and boring. He hated cowards. If it were time for him to die he might as well accept it and so should everyone else when it was their time. If it wasn’t his time to die, well then, he reckoned there was nothing to be afraid of. 

“You ‘bout done hiding and ready come out and face me like men, or not?” he called out. 

The street fell silent again as the outlaws conferred amongst themselves about what to do next. There were only a few options open to them. They could do the honorable thing and try to take him in a duel, one by one. It was unlikely they would chose that path but if they did he knew he was a better shot than any of them. Or they might try and make a run for it but with one of their people out of ammo it seemed like a risk that they would not take. No, they would all three come out shooting together and when they did he would need to be ready. He was well prepared for what he knew would come next. Ned was the younger and more impulsive of the Bartlett brothers. He would be the first to come out, guns blazing and not even bothering to take aim. He would be easy to take care of. Ned’s cousin Stan was a man in his thirties and would probably not stand up until Ned was down. Once Ned was down, Stan would be emotional and that emotion would work to Arthur’s advantage. Garret and Fred were at the wagon to the left and since one of them was unarmed, if they were smart they would wait for Ned and Stan before making a stand. Arthur was counting on them not being too smart. 

Arthur stood his ground in the center of the street and waited to see what his fate would be. Fred was the first to stand up from behind the barricade waving a white rag flag.This was not going to go down the way he had planned. Not in the slightest. Arthur took the shot without hesitation. Fred was wanted dead or alive. The white flag was probably a trick anyhow. Arthur’s aim was true as always and Fred fell back behind the wagon, blood pooling at his chest. With Fred down, this meant that Garrett would take his fallen friend’s gun. Arthur was outnumbered once again. It was no matter. Whatever was meant to go down would go down, no matter how many bullets he had or who had the numbers. 

He heard a shout from Stan who came charging out from behind the wagon on the right, guns blazing. Arthur dove behind a watering trough before taking aim at the distraught gunman, Once again his aim was true and Stan fell down in the street. All that were left were Ned and Garrett and Arthur’s one round. 

It was Ned who started shooting next. He fired from two guns as he made his way towards the trough Arthur had ducked behind. Perhaps it was rage driving Ned so recklessly close or perhaps Ned was counting on actually hitting his target in the end but none of the shots managed to hit Arthur. One of the rounds pierced through the watering trough and water began to drain out on the ground making a puddle at Arthur’s feet. He had expected the water wouldn’t hold in there forever and that had been the reason he had made an effort to draw their fire to this area in the first place. He had hoped it would drain a little sooner. The trough was still half full and Ned was only twenty feet away. It was now or never. Arthur moved his rifle to hang from the strap on his back and ducked down low enough to get a shoulder beneath the watering trough. He got to his feet and overturned the trough in one swift motion lifting it up with him as water spilled out onto the dusty street. Arthur didn’t wait for the water to settle. He shouldered the dripping trough and charged straight at Ned. He imagined that Ned Bartlett had never had anyone charge at him carrying a watering trough. Young Ned was too young to have fought in the war and had never seen a man charge into battle in all his life. A volley of bullets whizzed past Arthur and several rounds hit the wooden trough. The two clicks sounded telling Arthur that Ned was out of ammunition and with one last heft Arthur knocked Ned to the ground with the weight of the trough. 

Arthur knew this moment was critical if he hoped to survive. Ned was on the ground out of ammunition but Garrett was still barricaded behind a wagon and now had a clear shot at him. Arthur put his bayonet to Ned’s neck and stood his ground, convinced that this was the only way. It took but a moment for Garret to expose himself and Arthur took the shot. Ned moved at his feet and Arthur reacted quickly by hitting him in the head with the butt of his rifle, silencing the empty street entirely. 

He stayed where he was and waited for the townspeople to come out of their shops and houses. It took but a short time for the eyes peeking out between closed shutters and drawn curtains to see that the streets were safe once again. By the time Arthur had tied up Ned Bartlett, three men in suits were approaching Arthur alongside a group of common folks. 

“Well, you’ve done it,” said the shortest and stoutest of the three. “We said it couldn’t be done and you’ve gone and taken down the Bartlett gang,” the man said with a big smile and a firm handshake. “I’m Mayor Howard Gustin. You seem to have single handedly saved our town a lot of trouble, stranger. You got a name?” 

“Arthur. Arthur Boone,” he told them. 

“What happened to the sheriff?” the taller of the three men asked, taking note of the sheriff’s badge that Arthur had pinned on himself. 

“This is here is Tim Peterson,” Howard explained. “He owns the General Store over across the way.” 

Tim was still waiting for Arthur to explain himself and looking none too pleased about it. 

“Well, unfortunately your sheriff got taken down when them fellas first rode into town. They were shooting things up something awful down by the livery and I thought it was time someone did something about it. I meant no disrespect to your sheriff by taking his badge. I just wanted ‘em to see it was the law coming after ‘em and not some young tenderfoot.” Arthur explained carefully. 

“That does make sense,” The third man in a fancy suit spoke up. He wore a little nameplate pinned to his suit that said Angus Dewitt Pacific Bank and so no introductions were needed. “It’s a lucky thing you were there and armed and experienced. You are experienced? You’re Captain Arthur Boone of the US Cavalry am I right?” 

“That would be me,” Arthur admitted somewhat reluctantly. He took the sheriff’s badge from off his chest and handed it over to the mayor with a nod. “You’ll be wanting to find someone else to wear that,” he told them though he was almost sure it wasn’t true. These people were too worked up to let him leave so easily. 

“Well now hold up a minute,” Tim spoke up. “The last time those Bartletts were in town they stole a lot of stuff from out of my store. Sheriff Williams was a good man but he never could stop them. Suppose some other gang of outlaws takes it into their heads to plunder this here town? Don’t you think we ought to have a Sheriff who can actually do something about it?” 

Angus thought over Tim’s words a moment. “I’m in agreement with you Tim. This fella should stay on.” 

“I don’t know…” Arthur began. He wasn’t opposed to staying but he couldn’t seem too eager if he hoped to get a good salary out of the deal. “I was heading east for a job with the railroad. Pays good.” 

“How much does it pay?” Mayor Howard wanted to know. “We can offer you room and board and match what the railroad pays.” 

Arthur took a newspaper clipping from his pocket with an advertisement for the the railroad job. A big smile crept onto Howard’s face. “Yes, we can match this. We can beat this. Will you do it?” 

Arthur scratched his head as he thought over the offer. “I could, if I could just make one request?” 

“Anything. Well almost anything,” Howard said. 

“It might seem a bit silly but my Mama named me Arthur after King Arthur. You know the stories with knights and the round table and the wizard Merlin and all that? Well if I’m gonna stay here and try and keep the peace in this here town, seems like it oughta be named Camelot.” 

“Camelot huh?” Howard almost laughed. “That’s not a bad idea at all. I’m all for it. What about you fellas?” The other two men nodded their heads. “Looks like the town council has put it to a vote and you sir are the new sheriff of Camelot.” 

“My thanks to you,” he said, then he reached for young Ned Bartlett who was just waking up and pulled the lad to his feet. “I assume you have a jail cell I can check this fellow into?” 

“This way. This way,” Howard led the way to a building further up the street. 

It was a small building with an office and two windows in the front, a couple of cells in the back, and a living space upstairs. Everything was dusty and there were stacks of papers lying about from the previous sheriff’s work. 

“It’s not much. Not like the officers of the law have back east,” Howard was saying. “But you’ll have free food at the hotel dining room, paid for by the town and you’ll have a running tab at the General Store for new clothes whenever you need them.” 

“It’ll do fine,” Arthur said as he brought his prisoner to the cell and locked the door with the key hanging on the wall. “Now if you gentlemen don’t mind I’d like to get to work getting this place tidied up.” 

The townspeople left Arthur alone while he cleaned up the sheriff’s office, filing all the papers from the desk, arranging the furniture, and wiping away the dust. All the while Ned Bartlett glared at him. 

“You got something to say, Kid?” Arthur asked him after a long period of silence. 

“You shot down my brothers like they was nothing. Ain’t you at least gonna bury them?” 

“What makes you think they were something?” Arthur said calmly in return. 

“They was my brothers! They took care of me and fed after my Pa got shot. They taught me everything I know.” 

Arthur crossed his arms with a sigh. “Then I’m afraid they taught you wrong, boy. All they taught you was robbery and drunkenness and murder because that is all they know.“

Ned made a face and it wasn’t clear if he were about to cry or curse. Arthur didn’t wait to find out. “What they should have taught you was honor and sobriety and chivalry. That’s what my Mama taught me was important. That’s what’s important for this town.” 

Ned glared at him with a hatred he could hardly contain. “Honor? Like when Fred tried to surrender and you shot him anyhow? Where was your damned honor then?” 

“You and I both know Fred had committed so many crimes he was past redemption,” Arthur said. There was no sense in arguing with this boy. Nothing would convince him of the truth. 

“Yeah, and you and I both know something else too. I saw how Sheriff Williams died. It’s a lucky thing your new Mayor friend didn’t see it or you wouldn’t be wearing that badge.” 

“Then when the mayor was here just now, why didn’t you just tell him whatever it was you think you saw?” Arthur asked unconcerned. “Maybe because you realize no one is going to take the word of an outlaw.” 

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll still go to hell in the end just like I will,” Ned said through clenched teeth. 

“Maybe, but you’ll go there first. Stay cozy in that there cell. I’ll be back for you after I’m done building the gallows,” Arthur said and he left his prisoner alone.


	2. Chapter 2

_Oh I'm gettin' old and feeble and I cannot work no more_  
The children no more gather 'round my door  
And old masters and old mrs they are sleepin' side by side  
Near the little old log cabin in the lane 

_Oh the chimney's fallen down and the roof's all caved in_  
Lettin' in the sunshine and the rain  
And the only friend I've got now is that good old dog of mine  
And the little old log cabin in the lane 

_Oh the trees have all growed up that lead around the hill_  
The fences have all gone to decay  
And the creeks have all dried up where we used to go to mill  
And things have changed of course in another ways 

_Oh the chimney's fallen down and the roof's all caved in_  
Lettin' in the sunshine and the rain  
And the only friend I've got now is that good old dog of mine  
And the little old log cabin in the lane 

_Oh I ain't got long to stay here what little time I've got_  
I want to rest content while I remain  
'Til death shall call this dog and me to find a better home  
And leave th' little old log cabin in the lane 

_Oh the chimney's fallen down and the roof's all caved in_  
Lettin' in the sunshine and the rain  
And the only friend I've got now is that good old dog of mine  
And the little old log cabin in the lane 

_-Will S. Hays_

The song rang out cherily as the stagecoach bumped over the long and winding road. Lucas Walton wasn’t that great of a banjo player. United States Marshals didn’t need to be banjo players after all but Lucas could sing anyhow. The way he saw it, riding on top of the coach while he was transporting a prisoner on a fine day like this one, was as good a time as any to sing. Really, any time at all was a time to sing except that Lucas knew that other folks didn’t see it that way and during those times he could keep quiet for their sake. He finished off his song and heard an applause from within the coach accompanied by the rattling of chains. 

“You sure do know how to sing a good tune, Marshall Walton.” Donny called out from inside. 

“I do my best,” Lucas said with a smile. “You fellas ought to sing the next one with me.” 

“I won’t be doing any singing.” Keith Danvers said sourly. He was the driver and only other companion on this trip. “You two go right on ahead and sing without me. I got better things to do.” 

Lucas shook his head at the grisled coach driver. “Alrighty then, you wallow in your bitterness all you like. Donny and I have some cheer to spread.” 

“Cheer to spread? This ain’t Christmas! And what could that boy possibly have to be cheerful about? He’s on his way to prison!” Keith spat his chewing tobacco on the ground. 

“Could be he’ll end up in prison. He’s on his way to trial though. The courts will decide what happens to him. That doesn’t mean there isn’t anything to sing about anymore. I know some sad songs too if you think that would be more fitting?” 

“I think silence would be more fitting,” Keith said in reply. 

“It’s too long a trip to spend it all in silence. I’ll do two more songs though and be quiet for a spell if that suits you,” he said amicably. 

Keith gave what sounded like his version of a grunt as a reply while Lucas began another song. At the end of his second song Donny applauded once again. 

“How come you know so many songs that I’ve never heard before?” Donny called out. 

“Well some of them I learn off of sheet music my sister sends me from back east and most of them are just newly published,” Lucas explained. 

“Sheet music?” Donny asked. “You mean those chicken scratch dots that opera singers use? How do you even read that?” 

“What the Marshal here is trying to say,” Keith spoke up, “Is that he has more book learning than both of us combined and that’s why his head is full of songs and turds.” 

Lucas ignored this attempt at an insult as did Donny. “I only went to school for six years,” Donny said sadly. “I wanted to go longer but Mama needed my help back on the farm.” 

“You should have stayed on that farm rather than taking up thieving,” Keith told him. 

“I didn’t take the jewels from that lady’s purse. I didn’t!” Donny protested. 

Lucas wasn’t sure if that was the truth. The jewelry had been found in Donny’s room after all. The kid’s job at the hotel didn’t pay much and there were a lot of wealthy people that came in and out of that place. Maybe the chance to send some money to his poor family back home had been too much a temptation for Donny. Or maybe one of the other hotel employees pinned the theft on Donny rather than get caught. It seemed unlikely though. Donny probably had stolen the jewels and would probably spend some time in jail for it. Hopefully he’d come out of it having learned to never try something like that again. 

“I know a thief when I see one,” Keith was saying. “Good thing judge Harmon hangs thieves like he should. We can be rid of your trouble for good.” 

“They’re not gonna hang me are they Marshal?” Donny sounded genuinely worried. 

“That would be too harsh. No one needs to die over stealing some necklaces,” Lucas mused aloud. 

“Stealing necklaces is where it starts,” Keith argued. “Then it goes on to stealing horses and money. Once they got money they start drinking and once they’re drinking they start killing people. Might as well hang ‘em and be done with it.” 

“Are they gonna hang me?” Donny asked again. 

“You got it wrong Keith. I don’t disagree that there are times when hanging a man is the right call. Sometimes they’ve done too much violence and are too far gone to be of any use to the world anymore. Those kind of people are few and far between but they do gotta pay for their crimes. The rest of the lawbreakers like Donny here, those ones still have time to change.” 

“That’s a load of horsesh-!” 

“Are they going to hang me?” Donny interrupted Keith with urgency. 

“Judge Harmon is a reasonable man. If I ask him for leniency and for some more time to gather evidence, he’ll listen,” Lucas said. 

“You better be right about that,” Donny said, not entirely convinced. 

Lucas was about to assure him that it was the truth when a sight ahead in the road got his attention. “Hold up,” he said to Keith. 

“Yeah, I see it. Log in the road. You know what that means,” Keith removed his revolver from the holster. Lucas followed suit. “It’s not too big a log. I ain’t gonna get killed by no bandits today.” 

“Danvers, don’t do it!” Lucas all but shouted at him. It was too late. Keith Danvers had the horses going full speed ahead. He apparently hoped to get up enough momentum to get the coach wheels over the log. 

The horses jumped over the log effortlessly. The front wheels of the coach hit with an impact that broke the wooden wheels on contact. Lucas was thrown from the top of the coach and went tumbling on the ground. He felt something snap in his knee and for a moment everything went dark. When he opened his eyes again, it seemed that only a few seconds had passed. He dragged himself to feet with the help of a nearby tree branch. The coach was on its side and broken. Donny was crawling out the door which now on the top side of the overturned coach. Four gunman came into view. Keith was not in Lucas’ line of sight at all. He seemed to have disappeared, hopefully not pinned underneath the coach. A shot from one of the gunmen hit Donny in the shoulder and the boy fell back down inside the coach. 

The second shot did not come from any of the four gunman but from somewhere on the other side of the coach. It had to be Keith doing the shooting. The shot hit one of the bandits in the leg and though the man gave a cry of pain he limped onward looking for cover. Lucas realized that he must have dropped his own gun somewhere during the crash. He had certainly dropped his banjo. It was lying broken not more than ten feet away. He lowered himself to his uninjured knee and ducked down behind a bush. The shrubbery provided very little cover but it did give him a vantage point to watch the situation unfold and try to plan his next move. 

Two of the bandits remained on horseback and had begun circling the area around the coach, probably looking for any remaining passengers or the driver. As soon as the shooting began, they dismounted and took cover at the overturned coach along with their injured companion which happened to be on the same side where Lucas was ducked down hiding. It was only a matter of time before they realized he was there. Lucas took a look around for something that could serve as a weapon, a rock maybe? Then he spotted his revolver on the ground right out in the open between himself and the three gunmen. He looked down at his knee. It was now pretty swollen from being twisted in the fall. Even if he could have been quick enough to retrieve his gun before his knee got all busted up, there was no way he could manage it now. 

More gunshots rang out and a shout was heard on the far side of the coach before the air fell silent. If he had to guess, Lucas was pretty sure that Keith had taken down the fourth bandit. The three men began to reach around the edge of the coach and fire shots in Keith’s general direction. Something had to be done about all this. Donny was still inside that coach and was there was no way of knowing how badly he was injured. With all the gunshots headed in the direction of the coach it was only gonna get worse. 

“I shoulda just been a fisherman,” Lucas muttered to himself. He had never enjoyed being a Marshal and whenever he found himself in tough spots he found himself regretting not taking a more peaceful type of employment. 

Then he remembered something. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of fishing line with a hook attached. He liked to carry fishing line in case he got the chance to stop over at Laketown. With all the shooting going on, the bandits took no notice of his eleven attempts to hook his revolver on the ground behind them. On the twelve try he managed to hook the weapon and pulled it quickly to himself. He shot two of them in the leg before the third one realized that the shots were coming from behind. That one turned and fired straight at Lucas. The shot missed. The other two men had apparently never been shot before and had dropped their guns and were writhing in agony. The uninjured man was taking aim a second time. Lucas shot first and he didn’t miss. 

Two of the bandits were dead and the other two were currently unarmed but their guns lay within reach right next to them. Lucas grabbed the tree branch and pulled himself to stand, keeping his aim towards the injured men. They didn’t fight being arrested and gave up their guns as asked. 

“Donny?” Lucas called out while he tied up his prisoners. “You alive in there boy?” 

Keith came out of hiding and climbed on top of the overturned coach. He threw open the door and peered down inside. “Give me that there box,” he reached two hands inside and hauled the chest out and placed it next to him on the coach. After that he pulled the kid out and lowered him to the ground. 

Donny was bleeding and looked rather shaken up. Keith jumped down from the coach and set to work unhitching the horses. They would have to ride for the remainder of their journey. “That there box is the property of Wells Fargo. It comes with us. Bring it here Donny.” 

Donny was shot in the shoulder and though he made a good effort, he could not lift his arms above his head. Keith watched with disgust but made no move to help so Lucas limped over and reached up to pull down the chest. It was far heavier than he expected and between the weight of the chest and the injury to his knee, the Marshal soon found himself flat on the ground pinned beneath the heavy chest. It was in that moment that Donny decided to make a run for it. He supposed he couldn’t blame the kid. Keith had told him he might be hanged and after just barely escaping the bandits with his life, Donny was panicked. 

“You yellow bellied little…” Keith muttered and then worked quickly to finish unhitching one of the horses. He mounted and took off after Donny. 

Lucas pushed the chest off of himself and followed after them. It took him a while to catch up due to the pain in his knee. He eventually found them, Donny looked like his nose was broken, his left eye was blacked, and he had fresh roped tied around his wrists. Keith was still on horseback and held the end of the rope while Donny walked. 

The rest of the journey to the city was sullen. Lucas had done what he could for Donny’s wounds, and had made sure his other two prisoners were tied securely. There were no more songs. His broken banjo was in a bag and Lucas was in one of his rare moods where he actually didn’t want to sing. He dropped off his prisoners at the jail near the courthouse, left Keith Danvers at the Wells Fargo office, and went to see a doctor for his knee. 

It was dusk when Lucas finally returned to his little townhouse on the edge of the city. There was mail in the basket on his front steps. Usually his neighbor old Mrs Fisk picked up his mail for him when he was away. And on top of the mail was a telegram message dated for the previous day. 

_The Bartlett Gang all killed in Davenport shootout with only Ned Bartlett taken alive STOP Sheriff Brett Williams killed in the conflict STOP Davenport renamed Camelot STOP_

Lucas didn’t bother to read the rest of the mail. He went inside, took a bottle of whiskey from the pantry, and went straight out the back door into the garden. There weren’t many flowers blooming this time of year. Or maybe they just didn’t grow as well without Emilia to tend them anymore. Lucas went past the dying flowers and shrubbery. He stopped in front of a single gravestone. 

_Emilia Williams Walton 1841-1870, Beloved wife and mother, Edith Walton 1865-1870, Beloved daughter._

With great effort, Lucas lowered himself down to sit on the ground. The grass was well worn as he had sat in this spot many times before. “Well Emilia, at least you won’t be alone anymore. Your brother will take good care of you. He always did. Better than I could...better than I ever could...” 

And Lucas opened the bottle of whiskey with no plans to go back in the house anytime soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil is rightwise king born of all England. -Sir Thomas Malory

A warm rain fell while Arthur began to build the gallows. Several townspeople had already begun to clean up the street and gather up the bodies of the Bartlett gang. A few women had taken down their curtains and were taking them to washboards. Likely, hiding inside and closing the curtains during the shootout had alerted them to how dirty the curtains actually were. Arthur had spoken briefly to the town council and gotten approval for lumber to build a gallows. He didn’t mind building in the rain. It reminded him of another time. 

He had fought two battles in the rain. One had been during the war between the states. He and his Confederate brothers had been marching for days. There had been hardly enough food, not enough blankets or shelter at night. None of them were ready to fight. Then the rain had been falling so hard that no one could see much of anything. They could hear though. They could hear the sounds that he still heard in his dreams sometimes. Most nights though he didn’t hear or dream anything at all. 

The rain fall warm on his shoulders while he nailed another board into place. His rifle, a cavalry issue Henry rifle, leaned against the building to his right. It had been a cold rain on the night he got that rifle. The war had been long over and they had been sent to end some Indian raids. To this day he didn’t know exactly how it had happened and there was no one left alive to ask. All he knew was that he and his company had woken up surrounded and most of their weapons were gone. He assumed that the Indians had sneaked into their tents while they slept and stole the weapons but something went wrong and they woke up Bill Bentley. It was Bill who had sounded the alarm. Arthur had gone out of his tent with the others and gone after the thieves like they were commanded to do. 

The rain had been bitterly cold and their enemy had the advantage. Arthur had watched his friends and companions be taken down by arrows and bullets one by one. The few among them who still had a weapon were the first to die. Someone shot down Captain Sanders, the commander of their company and as the Captain fell forward his rifle stuck into the ground by the bayonet. Five unarmed members of the company made an attempt at pulling the upright rifle from the muddy ground and all five failed. Two were shot down before they could get close enough to try. Two others slipped in the mud and only managed to touch it. The fifth got one hand around the barrel before an arrow hit him as well. Arthur was the only one among them who managed to pull that rifle and bayonet from the ground. He put it to his shoulder, pulled the trigger, and found that it did not fire. So he charged at his enemy with the bayonet, not stopping until he had vanquished every last one of them. 

He remembered being more cold than he had ever been in his life that night. He had been soaking wet and covered in blood and apparently the only survivor of his entire company. He didn’t know how long he had wandered before he came on the cabin in the woods and he didn’t know how long it had taken him to recover from his injuries there. He did know that when he left that cabin at Laketown, the lady who lived there had given him a working Henry rifle that had fit his Captain’s bayonet. He had never missed his target since that day. 

Arthur pounded in the last nail of the gallows, thankful for the warm rain. He made his way back to the jailhouse and found it empty. He cursed. His mistake was easy to spot. The broom lay on the floor next to the empty cell and the key was gone from the hook on the wall. There was no telling where Ned had gone to now but he couldn’t have gotten far. Arthur needed to find him right away or this town would never trust he was capable of being their Sheriff. 

*** 

Ned had been running for almost six hours. He couldn’t go on much longer. The rain had kept him from being thirsty but he was unaccustomed to running so much. He was hungry too. He knew he needed to find food and a place to hide for a least a little while. The barn up ahead was as good a place as any. 

Ned waited behind a tree until dusk to cross the open distance to the barn. There was smoke coming from the chimney of the ranch house on the other side of the barn. Ned hoped that the smoke meant the house was occupied and the barn was empty of all people but he couldn’t be sure.He needed there to be something edible in that barn. Maybe oats or corn to feed the animals or a cow that could be milked. He didn’t require a lot of food. His Ma had always said that he had the least appetite of all her boys and that was why he was so skinny but it wasn’t true. Ned was always hungry. He just forgot to eat sometimes was all. 

Ned made his way across the field without incident. The barn door was held shut with a wooden bar. He lifted the the bar and slipped inside. The door creaked as he pulled it shut. As most barns did. It smelled of hay and animal droppings. The barn was dimly lit by the light of two windows at the far end. Ned took a look around and quickly found the burlap sacks of animal feed. The first one he opened contained oats. Raw oats would have to do. He spread his bandanna on the floor and began to fill it with oats that he could tie up and carry with him. He ate handfuls of the feed as he worked. He tied up the bandanna to bring with him and made way for an ax hanging on the wall. A weapon of any sort was better than nothing. 

The sound of the barn door creaking stopped him dead in his tracks. “Hold up there kid,” A man’s voice said. 

Ned turned to find a farmer pointing a shotgun at him. He raised his hands. “I’m just looking for food. I don’t mean any harm. I promise.” 

“That so? What’s your name boy?” The farmer asked. He wasn’t so old. Maybe thirty Ned guessed. 

“Robert,” Ned said, throwing out the first name that came to mind other than his own. 

“I’m James Corbin. What you doing here stealing food unless you’re in some sort of trouble?” 

“I’m just running away from home is all. My Ma won’t get off my back. I got sick of it.” Ned said, a little proud of himself at being able to lie so quickly. 

Corbin shook his head doubtfully. “They’re saying out to town that the Bartlett gang is dead and one of them escaped, the youngest one. That would make you Ned, wouldn’t it?” 

“No sir, I’m Robert. Robert Mason. They call me Bobby. I’ll pay for the oats. I’ll do some chores and pay for them. I swear it.” 

“No, you’ll come inside and eat something respectable while I send my hired hand to get the sheriff and sort this whole thing out,” Corbin backed away and pushed the barn door open. “Let;s go.” 

Ned’s mind was reeling with the need to escape. If the Sherrif came here and saw him, that would be the end. He couldn’t let that happen. That man was one of the terrifying lawmen who would shoot first and ask questions later. His only hope of survival was to get away from this farmer now before the sherif ever got back here. He headed back towards the barn door and a glance behind him told him that James Corbin had lowered his gun. Ned made three swift steps for the barn door and closed it before Corbin could exit the barn. He threw his weight against the door and tried to pull the beam down into place that held the door shut. He was too late. James Corbin was already pushing against the door from the other side. Ned knew that Corbin was half a foot taller than he was and not nearly so skinny. He wouldn’t be able to shut the door and Corbin’s bullets could probably still reach him through the wood. So he did the only thing that was left for him to do. He ran. 

His heart was pounding as he made way for the back side of the house and the woods in the distance. None of this was fair. Sure, he had been involved in robberies but he’d never actually shot anyone. His brothers had done that. Besides, this was California. People got shot all the time out here. All he knew was, he didn’t want to die, not by hanging. Not yet. Maybe this was better though. Maybe getting shot in the back by some farmer was better than swinging from the end of a rope. His lungs hurt as he struggled to run faster and waited for the shot to hit him. Then something hit him in the head and everything went dark. 

The light from the window was bright in his eyes when Ned awoke in a farmhouse kitchen. James Corbin stood over him, his gun now hanging on the wall above the kitchen cookstove. There was a pain in his head from whatever Corbin had struck him with. 

“Running away from your Ma are you?” Corbin asked. “I’m not sure I believe that one. You Ned Bartlett?” 

“You gonna turn me over to the new sheriff?” 

“I ain’t got much choice. He’ll be here soon,” James said sadly. 

“You can’t. Your new sherif, he’s crazy. Take me to the US Marshall office or the county jail, not him. Not Arthur Boone, please, not him!” Ned begged, knowing he sounded like a pathetic coward and not caring anymore. 

“Look kid, you were involved in a robbery. Arthur Boone is my uncle and a war hero. Of course you gonna be scared of the man who shot down your brothers but justice gots to be done. If I were you, I’d make my peace with the Good Lord above before it’s too late.” 

“It’s not just my brothers he shot down….” Ned protested but he was truly afraid of telling the rest of what he had seen. They were likely already gonna kill him anyway but if he said too much his death might not be a clean one. 

The sound of hoofbeats approaching made Ned fall silent. This was the end. Corbin turned and opened his front door. Moments later sherif Arthur Boone entered the kitchen. He carried a noose. 

“That’s him,” Arthur said with a nod. “Can’t risk him escaping on the way back to town. Let’s get this over with.” 

Ned remained silent while they led him outside and stood him on a block of wood under a thick tree branch. When the noose went over his head he started talking. 

“You can’t get away with this! I saw what you did! I saw it!” he shouted at the lawman. “I was in the livery when the robbery started. I was keeping the horses for the getaway. Sheriff Williams didn’t die in no crossfire. You took him down yourself! You shot the sheriff and you took his badge and you won’t get away with it! You won’t!” 

James Corbin stood by, arms crossed, looking concerned but he said not a word. Arthur Boone shook his head sadly. “I feel sorry for you kid. Such a sad life being brought up by outlaws and then to have it end like this. Any prayers you want to say, you best say them now.” And Arthur Boone kicked the block of wood from beneath Ned’s feet.


	4. Chapter 4

All ye that be lovers call unto your remembrance the month of May, like as did Queen Guenever, for whom I make here a little mention, that while she lived she was a true lover, and therefore she had a good end. -Thomas Malory 

 

The paper sat blank on the writing desk alongside the ink and quill. Gwen did not know what to write. Something had to be written. Of that there was no doubt. Father had made it very clear. She could either go to his cousin in Australia or make her own arrangements to leave but staying at Ethridge Castle for any length of time would not be permitted. It grieved her greatly to face such disgrace but she feared that Australia and cousin Edgar his condescension was not something she could bear. She would find her own passage to America. She would be a stranger there. No one would need to know of her disgrace and there she could start anew. 

The sun shone brightly through the window near her writing desk. She could see flowers in bloom in the garden in the grounds below. Her elder brothers George and Gerald were on horseback in the distance preparing for a fox hunt. In every way it was a cheery sort of day. Except that Gwen could not find any joy within herself. The bridal agency had given her listings for twelve different American men looking for wives. All twelve had expressed an interest in her advertisement. Only one held any merit in her eyes and even he seemed like a great risk. Any of these men would be a risk. Men always were and leaving her native England for a new wild land was a danger all its own. Besides, she couldn’t be sure that this Arthur Boone would be anything like her Thomas had been. The description was similar enough. Both had been military men. Both had been awarded for valor. Arthur was a sheriff in a California town and Thoas had hoped for a position as a Constable after the conflict in New Zealand had ended. Arthur’s photograph looked promising she supposed. He was older than her by maybe twelve or fifteen years but still handsome. It could be that he was a better option than cousin Edgar. 

Gwen took up the quill and began to form her reply. Yes, she would accept Arthur’s offer and come to California. She hoped he would be willing to pay for the shipment of two trunks along with her passage. She couldn’t see how she would make due with less. A lady has need of a great many things, after all. She told Arthur that she looked forward to learning more details about her departure and to meeting him. Gwen waited for the ink to dry before folding the paper and sealing up the letter. She gave the letter to Daisy, one of her maids who would mail it right away. 

Gwen turned and faced her room, a large old bedchamber with a four poster curtained bed, and decor from three hundred years ago. How would she ever live in rustic America. There would be no servants, no luxuries, and worst of all no Thomas and no Amelia. Father had taken baby Amelia away the moment she had been born a fortnight ago. She would be raised by the church or by some relative most likely. No amount of pleading had induced her father to tell her where he had taken her daughter. No amount of praying would bring Thomas back. He would have married her. Despite her father’s accusations, Gwen knew Thomas would have married her. If only he hadn’t died in New Zealand and none of this would be happening. 

“Did you decide?” The voice of her sister Gabriella came from the doorway. 

“I did,” Gwen told her. “I am going to California.” 

Gabby entered the room and hugged her sister. “I will miss you greatly. I don’t care what Father says. You shouldn’t have to leave.” 

Gwen agreed with the sentiment but did not voice it. “I will miss you too.” 

“I will keep trying to learn where they have taken Amelia. If I find out anything, I promise you, I will pay the passage myself to have her sent to you.” 

Gwen shook her head. “If she is in a good place, it is better to let her be. Perhaps she will love her new family. It would be cruel to rip them away from her and send her to a mother she never knew.” 

“But you will write to her if she wishes to know you?” Gabriella asked. 

“I would die for her should she need it. Of course I would write to her if it can be arranged.” Gwen said earnestly. 

“I have to go. Lord Huntley’s birthday celebration is tonight and I am expected to be there. You will be alright alone?” 

“I always am,” Gwen blinked back her tears. 

***

The harbor was milling with ships and servants and carriages. People were boarding vessels for passage to the new world, leaving ships with goods they had traded, or returning home to families they had missed. Gwen had not expected her father to see her off but for some strange reason he had come out to the grounds that morning to the carriage along with her siblings and two steamer trunks. 

“I want you to know that I hold you no ill will, Gwen,” he had said, almost kindly. 

Gwen hadn’t known what to say to that. She was nineteen years old and being thrown out of the only home she had ever known after all. 

“After you are married, you and your husband are welcome to return and visit should you wish it,” Father had added. 

“That is appreciated,” Gwen had said stiffly. “I should like to see my siblings again someday,” she did not add any wish to see him again. He would understand the implications of her omission. 

Gabriella had hugged her one final time and George had offered her a hug as well. Then Gerald had surprised them all with his statement. “I’m going with you.” 

“What?” Gwen had stuttered. “You mean to the shipyard to see me off?” 

“No, I’m going to California. I have funds of my own. I’ll not see my sister abandoned in the Americas and maybe there is something for me there too.” 

“You’ll not do any such thing!” Father had spoken up. 

“I am of age. You can not stop me,” Gerald argued. 

“I can disinherit you.” 

“George is due to inherit everything anyway. I’m leaving with or without your blessing,” Gerald said firmly. 

“Then go without it,” Father had said. 

And so it was that Gwen boarded a ship bound for the Americas with her brother Gerald at her side. 

“I was not aware that you cared quite so much,” Gwen told him as they stood aboard the ship and watched England grow smaller in the distance. She stared out at the sea and hoped in her heart that she was making the right choice.


	5. Chapter 5

Until King Arthur's table, man by man,  
Had fallen iAmong the mountains by the winter sea;  
n Lyonnesse about their Lord,  
King Arthur: then, because his wound was deep,  
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,  
Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights,  
And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,  
A broken chancel with a broken cross,  
That stood on a dark strait of barren land.  
On one side lay the ocean, and on one  
Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

-Alfred Tennyson

 

The church bells rang loudly as the townspeople gathered at the Methodist Church. It was Arthur’s second Sunday attending there. The day was bright and sunny as were the smiles on the faces of the townspeople. Most of them were happy to see him. He had to admit, it was nice to be appreciated. In the past weeks, he had given them the body of Ned Bartlett, caught two cattle thieves, seen quite a few drunks safely out of town, and had rescued a lady from a pickpocket. His work was bringing peace and quiet to the town and the people here had the good sense to admire him for that.. It was a welcome sentiment. 

Arthur watched the people gather and sit in their pews and he knew it was time. Just as King Arthur had needed his knights of the round table to bring true peace to Camelot of old, he would need deputies to help manage this town. He had been watching and meeting people for days now. It was time that a decision be made. There were many men in this town that could be described as good people. Arthur had seen for himself that most of these people simply wanted to take care of their families though and not get involved in anyone else’s problems. They weren’t heroes, not like the knights of old camelot had been. Finding the right deputies was not going to be easy. 

At the end of the service Arthur chatted amicably with several people who came to greet him. He made his way out of the church and found that a young man stood near the hitching post surrounded by several young ladies. He was a tall strapping lad and clearly a handsome one too or these four young women would not all be here seeking his attention. He was reminded that he had once read of how Sir Bedivere was the most handsome of all of Arthur’s knights; the most handsome, and the most willing to defend Arthur’s reputation. A deputy like that might be useful. 

“You’re Willis, right?” Arthur approached the young man. 

“That’s right sir,” he said, a little concerned about why the sheriff was talking to him. “Willis Sanderson.”

“Now I hear tell that the Sanderson family has a lot of children. You have five- no six sisters? You wouldn’t happen to be looking for a job would you?”

Willis brightened a little at the question. “I could use a job sir. Did you have something in mind?” 

Arthur nodded. “Indeed I did. You come and meet me down at the sheriff’s office after you have your Sunday dinner and we’ll have us a talk about it.” 

“Speaking of Sunday Dinner,” a female voice behind him spoke. “Do you have a place to have your dinner?” 

Arthur turned to find Maybell Walters standing there smiling. “I’ll be eating dinner at home but I thank you for the invitation none the less.” Maybell was widowed and probably lonely but she was no Guinivere. 

“All alone?” Maybell asked, batting her eyelashes. “I do worry about your health without having a woman to cook for you.” 

“That’s going to change real soon. My wife is on her way here as we speak. She won’t arrive for another month but in the meantime, I’ll be just fine.” 

“A good meal wouldn’t hurt you in the meantime,” Maybell protested. 

“No. No I suppose it wouldn’t,” he agreed. 

“Then you’ll come over for dinner?” 

Arthur went with Maybell reluctantly but he went all the same. 

***

It was a fine day for a ride and Arthur’s belly was stuffed so full from dinner with the widow Maybell that it soon became uncomfortable to be on horseback. He was glad he had taken a little time after dinner to prepare for the ride and fill his saddlebags or else he might have spilled over. That woman was very insistent that he eat more and more. Willis rode alongside him on his own painted horse. 

“So how old are you son?” Arthur asked the younger man as they rode. They were more than a mile outside of town already. 

“Seventeen sir,” Willis told him. 

“And you’ve been raised on a ranch out here your whole life. I imagine that you’ve had a chance to learn how to shoot?” 

“I have. I go hunting sometimes. Usually I do well enough to get a deer or a rabbit or whatnot.” Willis explained. “Will I need to shoot for this job you have in mind?” 

“As a matter of fact you will. You’ll need to wear a badge too.” 

“A badge? You’re looking for a deputy?” Willis eyes were rather large. 

“More than one actually. A territory this large needs a whole team of deputies to keep the peace,” Arthur explained. 

“And the town will pay for that?” Willis sounded skeptical. 

“If they won’t, I will. I got me a large savings to take care of this sort of thing. I’ve been planning for this for a long long while.” 

“Planning for what?” Willis was genuinely curious. 

“Camelot,” he said simply. “How good are you at shooting son?” Arthur dismounted his bay horse and pulled his rifle from the case in the saddle. “You think you can shoot down some of those pinecones from that tree?” 

Willis looked at the pine tree across the field a little hesitantly and then dismounted, taking the offered rifle. “I’ll give it a try.”

Willis lifted the rifle, and took aim. His first shot missed. The second one hit a pine cone and shattered it. 

“That’s pretty good. How’s your aim with a revolver?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever shot one before.”

“Well, I don’t generally wear a revolver but I keep one in my saddle bag over there. You get it out, use your left hand, and give that gun a try,” Arthur instructed. 

Willis went to the saddle bag and reached in with his left hand. Almost immediately he flinched and then yelped in pain, pulling his hand free of the leather bag. “Something bit me!” 

Arther moved closer and took a look at the lad’s hand. Two puncture marks were visible in the palm. “This isn’t good, son.” He reached for his saddle bag and shook it. They both heard the noise from within. 

“That’s a rattle,” Willis said, ashen white. 

“I’m afraid so, He must have crawled in there last night when I left the sadlebags on the ground. I'm sorry.” Arthur went around to the other side of his horse to the other saddle bag and pulled out a hatchet. He returned to Willis looking grim. “Stay calm. You know what I need to do,” he told him. 

“No,” Willis took a step back. “You’re not cutting off my hand.” 

“We ain’t got a choice! Do you want to die son?” 

“No but…” Willis was panicked. 

“You’re only seventeen! You got your whole life ahead of you! A job as a deputy, a wife someday and a family, kids and grandkids...I know you don’t wanna die. The hand has to go and it has to go now!” 

Shaken, Willis held out his hand. “Then get it over with.” 

Arthur grabbed the boy’s arm and pulled him over to a nearby boulder. He laid the arm out on the boulder and passed Willis a small stick he picked up off the ground. “Bit down on this,” Arthur commanded. Willis did as he was told. Arthur raised the hatchet and brought it down again with all his strength, severing the hand from the body. 

Willis screams echoed in the valley. Arthur couldn’t help but feel that destiny was being written here. Sir Bedivere had been a one handed knight. Now his own first deputy would be one handed as well. He felt bad that the lad had passed out from pain. He went to his saddle bags and let out the garter snake, tossed away the baby rattle, and brought back bandages for Willis hand. He would care for Bedivere as Arthur had cared for his knights. All would be well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapters will alternate between, Gwen, Arthur, Marshall Lucas.


End file.
